


The Sun Will Rise With Your Name on My Lips

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Series: Who's The Boss [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Greg is John's Uncle, Kidlock, M/M, Mycroft is Sherlock's guardian, Virgin Mycroft, Who's the Boss, Younger selves, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a continuation of Who's the Boss (the Fall Fusion), Greg and Mycroft get the privacy they NEED. There's embarassment, heat, and sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Will Rise With Your Name on My Lips

**Author's Note:**

> so so so many thanks to 221Btls and GeronimoandbeMAGnificent for their awesome Beta skills. 
> 
> The title sort of comes from a wonderful Bastille song, "The Driver". In reality, the line is, the sun will rise with my name on your lips.

Sherlock climbed his dad and perched on his shoulders, screeching like an Amazon monkey. John yelled “Timber!” as he tried to yank Sherlock down. The radio blared _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ as Mrs. Holmes tip-tapped across the wooden floor, bringing a freshly-brewed pot of coffee to the living room. Christmas chaos swirled around Greg, but only one thing touched him: at that moment, how in love he was with Mycroft.

“You arranged all this?” Greg cradled Mycroft’s face in his hands. His voice hitched; he couldn’t say anything more for fear he’d giggle or sob in joy. “God, I love you.”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck and forgot himself. Forgot that his parents and the boys were present and kissed Greg full of heat.

“Oi. You two. Put a bag together and get out of here.” Father stood tall, despite Monkey-Sherlock clinging up his back reenacting jungle stories from his parents’ letters. “Quickly. Before we change our minds.”

Greg turned around in time to see John karate-chopping the back of Mr. Holmes’ knees. He grabbed John around the waist and hauled him away from Father. “What are you doing?” His stomach fell with John’s idiocy. _God, Mycroft’s parents were going to hate him._

“I have to capture the monkey. Easiest way is to chop down the tree.” John answered, rolling his eyes with a _duh, isn’t it obvious_ look.

"Don't worry about John," Mr. Holmes told Greg, who looked horrified at his nephew's behavior. "This is nothing compared to what Mycroft got up to as a child. He would always—”

"That's enough; no need for further details," Mycroft said, grabbing Greg's elbow and leading him toward the stairs. "Come along, Gregory. You need to pack your bag."

They separated at the top of the stairs, each going to his own room. Greg's stomach twisted as he dug his overnight case from the bottom of the closet. He wanted this with Mycroft, but all of the _**what ifs**_ spun around in his head as he packed.

"Ready?" Mycroft tapped at the open door before he walked in. He wrapped his arms around Greg's waist from behind, half hard in anticipation. If he stood pressed against Greg's back much longer, he'd be fully hard and likely finished before they even got to the hotel.

Mycroft nuzzled the curve of Greg's ear, nipped the spot that made Greg's knees weak. "We should go."

In the car Mycroft babbled about the hotel, the boys, his parents. "I can't seem to shut up." Mycroft laughed. "I'm beyond excited to be properly alone with you." He reached out to entwine their fingers and rest them on the BMW's gear shift. He squeezed Greg's hand and then pulled away to negotiate the ice and snow in hotel’s parking lot.

When he parked, Mycroft turned to Greg, who had been unusually silent, and took Greg’s hand again. His calm voice belied the trembling in his stomach. "Years ago, someone told me that caring is not an advantage. It sounded clever and mature, and I adopted it as my philosophy. Now I realize it was ridiculous."

He pecked Greg's cheek and rushed around to the other side of the car to open the door for him.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here.” Mycroft peppered Greg with small kisses, his goofy smile shining through.

Greg mmm’d, melting into Mycroft. He did want this, but the tiny voice shouted so loud.

_**What if.** _

“We can skip the desk and go directly to the room. I did not expect my parents to have gifted us with this weekend. To be candid, I did not expect them to be as—forward thinking as they have been.” Mycroft seemed introspective as they picked their way across the sea of ice in the parking lot.

“When did you come out to them?" Greg slid on a patch of black ice, but Mycroft's arm shot out to keep him standing.

“Uh--when I called to ask them to come home for Christmas.” Mycroft laughed easily. “My mother said ridiculous things about _knowing things before I tell her_ and _finally coming to my senses._ ”

“Awk-ward.” Greg singsonged as they entered the Inn.

The lobby of the Fairfield Inn was exquisitely decorated for the holidays. Christmas trees framed the fieldstone fireplace, and the light from the flames sparkled on the ornaments. “This is really nice.” Greg warmed his hands in front of the first. His stomach fluttered as Mycroft walked up to him.

"No need to stand at the fireplace. I'll warm you up." Mycroft took Greg's warm hand. They rode the elevator in silence-- Mycroft's in anticipation, Greg's in nervousness. When they reached the room, Mycroft ushered Greg inside. He dropped his bag and turned to kiss Greg.

He kissed air.

Mycroft looked around; Greg stood at the foot of the bed, singularly focused on folding his shirts and placing them in the bureau drawer with military precision.

"Alright?" Mycroft asked, placing his bag next to Greg's.

Greg nodded, smiling as Mycroft removed the folded trousers from Greg's hand and put them on the bed. He turned Greg toward him and leaned in for a kiss. They bumped heads, and when they tried again, their noses crashed.

Amid _owws_ and _damns_ , Greg’s frustration boiled over. He pushed away from Mycroft. “Can we just—stop? I’m so stressed out.”

Mycroft’s stomach plummeted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “Certainly. With the excitement of the morning and springing this on you…perhaps something to eat.”

Greg nodded, not looking at Mycroft. He grabbed the room key and waited in hallway. They rode the elevator in silence down to the lobby. Greg’s chest burned; he couldn’t look at Mycroft because he knew he’d read disgust all over Mycroft’s face.

He’d taken the lead on their encounters, and Mycroft had eagerly followed. But today it felt different. Serious. Life-altering. _He’s going to think I’m a jerk or that I’ve changed my mind. But it’s just a fucking huge step. Why? I’ve had sex before. This is the same—but that was exactly it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t the same. At all._

They’d been seated before Greg even realized. The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne that Mycroft’s parents had apparently ordered. Still wrestling with his doubts, Greg allowed Mycroft to order for him.

When the waiter left, Mycroft slid his hands across the tablecloth and motioned for Greg’s hand. “I love you. You do know that, right?”

Greg nodded, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Please. Stop.” Mycroft focused on Greg’s eyes and softened his voice.

“What?” Greg’s chin dipped and refused to hold Mycroft’s gaze.

Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand, the small pressure meant to reassure him. “You’re thinking. Over-thinking. Stop it.” He looked down and tilted his head, determined to meet Greg’s eyes. When he did, he saw the crinkles at the corners as the light came back into them.

“How could you even know?”

Mycroft smiled softly, his thumb caressing Greg’s hand. “You're thinking¬ ¬that this weekend will change everything. You think that it is possible to back away from flirting and remain friends if something goes amiss. And you believe that once we…” Mycroft swallowed hard at the sexually-charged thought. “Once we _fuck_ , there will be no turning back. It will fundamentally change our relationship.”

Jesus Christ. Mycroft sat across the table, in his conservative black suit, his plain white button down, and his maroon tie with tone-on-tone Christmas trees, the only nod to the holiday. So buttoned up, then out came that word. Regardless of his concerns, the word set Greg afire.

“And then if it soured—because it has been your prior experience that relationships fade and wither—you and John would need to leave.”

Greg sipped his champagne, more for something to focus on. It burned as he swallowed and roiled in his stomach.

Mycroft steepled his fingers at his chin and focused on Greg’s eyes. “Allow me to offer a different scenario. What if it _didn't_ go poorly. You see, I have no past experience to employ as a predictor of future behavior. Therefore, my expectation is that our relationship will grow and flourish over years, just as my mother and father’s has. Why is your version more valid than mine?"

Without realizing, Greg pressed the tip of his tongue between his lips as he processed what Mycroft said. Mycroft closed his eyes to ignore the tongue until he could regain rational control. But my God, Mycroft wanted that tongue.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Gregory, I want to be clear. Yes, you are incredibly handsome and sexy; I am assuming you are already familiar with the affect your body has on me. But you are so much more than your transport. Your emotional intelligence impresses me daily. You understand the boys and what they need. When to coddle them but also when to hold firm. Sherlock respects you and that is hard won.

“Not many men would have taken a job as a housekeeper; they would have seen it as beneath them. You, though. You did what had to be done for your family and you make certain to show us daily that the work is vital and is as important to our livelihood as what I do. And our skills are the same. You are the Chief Operating Officer and the Chief Financial Officer of our organization.

“All that makes you attractive as hell. And then I add in the bonus of your fit body, those blue eyes, and the bulge I’ve seen through your trousers.” He brought his face closer to Greg’s so that his voice wouldn’t carry. “I think about us now and years from now. In the shower. In bed. Exploring other options and locations.”

Greg coughed as he choked on the champagne.

"So again I ask: why is _your_  version more valid than mine?" Mycroft’s face was open as he asked the question. If Greg had an answer, he would like to hear it.

Greg sat without answering, watching as Mycroft took a sip of champagne and dabbed at his lips with his napkin, never rushing Greg. He could have been furious at Greg’s change of heart. Could have left in anger. But that wasn’t who Mycroft was. Instead, he sought to understand Greg and have Greg understand him.

The one piece of Greg’s heart that he’d always held for himself, that had always been safe—from that moment, he gave it to Mycroft.

Greg motioned for the waiter. “Please have our food delivered to room 221,” he said, his eyes never leaving Mycroft’s. He held out his hand to Mycroft. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Once in the elevator, they allowed other passengers to separate them, knowing they don't trust themselves to behave decorously. It did little good. The air between them crackled with electricity and other passengers noticed that Mycroft and Greg’s eyes never left each other.

When the computerized female voice welcomed them to their floor, Greg growled, “Thank fuck.” With only the two of them in the elevator, Greg had pushed his fists into his trouser pockets, because he was losing the battle with his desire.

Mycroft struggled with the room key, his hands trembling from need and want. Greg stepped between Mycroft and the door and removed the card from his hand disengaging the door’s lock. Blocking the way, Greg said, "Kiss me."

Mycroft’s voice was low and thick. “Not out here. In the room. Now.”

Greg brushed his lips against the curve of Mycroft’s ear before he allowed Mycroft into the room. As Mycroft walked through the door, his hip grazed the front of Greg’s trousers which bulged out further than usual.

Greg groaned at the touch. “Tease.”

“Do not be mistaken, Mr. Lestrade. I’m no tease. I have every intention of following through.” Mycroft smiled as he shut and locked the door. With a second thought, he re-opened the door and hung the “ **do not disturb** ” sign.

Mycroft raised his hand to remove his tie, but Greg stopped him. “Don’t do a thing. I just want to look at you.”

Mycroft fidgeted under the weight of Greg's gaze. “What?”

“I love you so much, and—I feel like I don’t have the right words to tell you. You're so beautiful.”

“You’re ridiculous. My hair is too thin; my nose is—” Still, Mycroft beamed at the words.

“Perfect. You're perfect.”

"No, _you_ are. You’re—”

Playfully, Greg kissed Mycroft quiet, but it turned heated in moments.

“Want you.” Mycroft said, and his cheeks turned red.

“Don't be embarrassed by what you want. Whatever you want is what I want.”

“I don't know what I want," Mycroft said. “I don't have much experience with this.” He buried his face in Greg's neck while Greg's fingers worked the knot in Mycroft’s tie and the buttons of his shirt.

“What do you like to do? To have done to you?” Greg slid Mycroft’s shirt from his shoulders, and it fluttered to the floor. “Don't mind me,” Greg said. “What were you going to say?”

As Mycroft thought, Greg kissed down his chest stopping at Mycroft’s hard nipple. The tip of Greg's tongue swirled and flicked before he took it in his mouth and sucked.

“I—I like _that_.” Mycroft moaned and arched his chest closer to Greg's mouth. “I don't know what I like. All I've done, I've done with you.”

“Then we'll figure it out together. Because I love you.” Greg's hands shook as he unknotted his own tie and slid it out from around his neck. It landed on the floor, loosely spiraled on Mycroft’s shirt.

Mycroft pushed each button through its small opening until Greg’s shirt hung open. His lips parted before he spoke. “God, look at you. You’re—” His fingers traced the crisscross pattern of Greg’s abs and the V that disappeared into his trousers. “You’re amazing.”

Greg’s breaths grew more ragged with each muscle Mycroft traced. “Oh God, please don’t stop there.”

Mycroft began to make a flirty comment about Greg’s trousers being in the way, but instead growled. “Fuck it.” He unbuckled Greg’s belt, fumbling with the catch and the zipper. And if he allowed his wrist to press against the bulge behind Greg’s fly, it was only to hear the guttural moan, which was a direct current to his own cock.

Mycroft stood and Greg pulled him closer, kissed him without finesse, bumped teeth and bumped noses, but this time it didn’t matter. They were together, finally. Greg rolled his hips against Mycroft and said, “I need you to be naked.”

They broke apart long enough to remove their trousers and underwear. Mycroft laughed, looking at Greg’s feet, still in the garish lime-green Grinch socks.

“What?” Greg kissed the laugh. “They were a gift from Mrs. Hudson.”

“At least her present did not include the matching boxer shorts.” Mycroft toed at the clothes pile at Greg’s feet. “Or did she?”

“I’ll show you later.” Greg held his hand out to Mycroft and led him to the bed. He felt like he was in one of those Harlequin romance novels his mom always had on her nightstand. But right now, it didn’t _feel_ stupid or cheesy.

Greg sat on the bed and Mycroft followed, still staring at Greg’s body, not believing he had the right to touch. He drew his finger across Greg’s collar bone, prominent against his lean body. Through the sandy blond hair on his chest. Down the flat plane of his abdomen until it rested in the tight curls, darker than his body hair.

Greg’s breath hitched, and he whispered yes. Mycroft wrapped his hand around Greg’s cock—thicker and longer than he had expected it would be. Sweet Jesus.

“Shit. We don’t have any lube or anything.” Greg dropped his head to Mycroft’s shoulder and sighed.

Mycroft tipped Greg’s chin up so he could look in his eyes. “I think we can safely assume that, since my parents arrived in Connecticut last night, they stayed in _this_ room and booked it through for us. You don’t know my Mum, but she believes herself to be open-minded, and she is. But she’s a bit over the top about it. So…” Mycroft stood, and padded into the bathroom, but returned empty-handed. He smiled a _no worries_ smile at Greg and opened one bedside table’s drawer, then the other.

He held up several strands of condom packets and tubes of lubrication. “Mother believes in always being prepared.” He placed the supplies on the table and found a folded note in the drawer.

 

_“Dearest Mycroft and his Greg,_

_Enjoy yourself in every sense of the word. PS: these are new for you two. I don’t want you to think they’re ours and we forgot them. Laugh out loud._

_Mummy”_

 

Greg laughed, interrupting Mycroft’s visible cringe. “I don’t know whether to bless her or be creeped out that she’s thinking about our sex life.” Mycroft flipped one of the tubes to Greg, who caught it one-handed.

Greg snapped open the top on the tube and dropped a small circle of slick onto his palm. He slid his fist over his cock, twisting at the tip to spread the lube, his eyes never leaving Mycroft’s. “Come back here.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and lost himself in the gravel of Greg’s voice. He climbed onto the bed and lay against the pillows. Greg wiped his hand on a Grinch sock as he removed them and tossed them to the floor. He crawled across the mattress until he was lying with his head on the same pillow as Mycroft.

“Hello.” Greg kissed Mycroft, soft and slow. Not bumped noses or clacked teeth this time. They slotted together perfectly, their noses, their lips. Their hands explored each other’s bodies, caressing, sometimes grabbing. The one time Mycroft slapped his hand across Greg’s ass, Greg jumped in shock, forgetting to release Mycroft’s cock first.

Mycroft didn’t do that again. Without warning.

“I’m sorry, love.” Greg apologized for his barbaric treatment of Mycroft’s cock by kissing it to make it feel better.

Mycroft’s back arched, pushing up to meet Greg’s mouth. Greg smiled and without any hesitation, wrapped his fist around Mycroft’s cock. He gasped and closed his eyes as Greg swirled his tongue around the crown, flicking and kissing, drawing tiny, needy chirrups from Mycroft. Greg dragged the flat of his tongue up the cock, and then flicked the point of his tongue over the slit, before swallowing him down.

Mycroft’s hands flew from the sheets to Greg’s head and held it in place as he fucked up into Greg’s mouth, but when Greg felt Mycroft’s hips stuttering out of their rhythm, he pulled away.

Mycroft gasped out a noooo and reached down to take his cock in his hand. “Gregory. Please.” He dragged the word out in anguish.

Greg took Mycroft’s hand and pulled it back up to the pillow to keep it away. “Shhhh baby. I got you.” He caressed and kissed Mycroft’s thigh, then crawled up the length of his body, dropping kisses on his jutting hipbone. His bellybutton. His collarbone. His mouth. His beautiful mouth that said the most wonderful things. “I love you,” Mycroft whispered.

Greg straddled him, brushing their erections together. When Greg hissed, Mycroft rolled his hips just to pull that sound from Greg again. “Hold on.” Greg reached for one of the lubes and squeezed a thick strip onto Mycroft’s cock then repeated it on his own.

He spread Mycroft’s legs wide and moved between them, positioning himself so their cocks aligned. Greg looked down at Mycroft whose face glowed with sweat and need. Greg spread the slick and then wrapped his hand around their cocks, and with each roll of his hips, he fucked up into his fist, dragging against Mycroft again and again. Mycroft’s hands roamed Greg’s back and shoulders. He nipped and sucked what he could reach, knowing he left a mark on Greg’s shoulder. Greg was his. It felt wonderful and primal at the same time. He loved that.

Without warning, Mycroft arched and came, spilling over Greg’s fist. Greg let go of Mycroft and knelt up, pulling until he could feel the tightening in his belly. He meant to position his hand so that most of his come would hit his own chest. But Mycroft lay exhausted and sated, watching Greg through heavy-lidded eyes and Greg was lost. He angled his cock, coming over Mycroft’s chest.

"Next time, aim for my mouth." Mycroft sounded filthy as he dragged his finger through the come and slid it between his lips.

Greg collapsed on the bed, and Mycroft nuzzled into him, resting his head on Greg’s shoulder until their breathing slowed to normal. Mycroft beamed at Greg. “That was—”

“Messy.” Greg held up his splattered hand and laughed as he rolled out of bed. Mycroft held onto his hip, not letting him leave.

“I was going to say _amazing_. But messy also works.”

Once more, Greg tried to roll out of bed. Mycroft didn’t hold him in place, but said plaintively, “Please don’t go.”

Greg turned over and kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose. “I’m getting a washcloth. If I don’t, we’ll both regret it when the mess dries.”

“I thought that was the purpose of showers.” Mycroft enjoyed the view of Greg’s ass as he walked away from the bed. When Greg returned with a warm wash cloth, he gently cleaned Mycroft’s chest and stomach. He dropped the dirty cloth onto the floor and turned back the bed linens so they could snuggle under the heavy down cover.

They faced each other, sometimes talking, sometimes sleeping, always exploring each other with their hands and lips. They lost count of how many times they said I love you.

In the dark hours of the early morning, Mycroft returned to the bed with a bath towel, the corner wet. He wiped Greg’s fingers and, after pausing a moment to fully appreciate its beauty, wiped Greg’s ass, still slick with lube and come. “We’ve used up every wash cloth they’d supplied and have moved on to towels.”

“When we run out, we’ll call housekeeping for more.” Greg smiled lasciviously and held the comforter up for Mycroft to crawl back under.

When he nestled behind Greg, Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.

“You ok?” Greg rolled onto his back to see Mycroft’s face, looking for tension. But Greg saw love and affection.

Mycroft dropped a kiss onto Greg’s lips. “Quite.” He curled his fingers into Greg’s and said, “Sherlock has been hinting, in the broadest sense of the word, that he would like a lab where he could conduct his experiments undisturbed.”

“As opposed to my kitchen?” Greg laughed and moved closer to Mycroft, tangling their legs. “Could he have a refrigerator to keep his dead animals in instead of in mine, because I would support that.”

Mycroft looked down at their hands, avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I was thinking that—your room would make a satisfactory laboratory...if you might want to—you know—move into my room. Our room.”

“That would be satisfactory.” Greg teased Mycroft, adding, “If by _satisfactory_ you mean _fuckyeah_.” He curved into Mycroft and watched his smile spread as he processed Greg’s answer.

Greg’s hands cupped Mycroft’s face. “When people hear that I’m your housekeeper, they say, who’s the boss? and think they’re hysterical. I tell them that we’re partners. Equals. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. So, yeah. I want to share your room. Our room. I want to fall asleep next to you every night and have the sun rise with your name on my lips.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and nodded, wondering how it would be possible to love Gregory more. “That’s right, _Boss_.”

Greg kissed him, slow and sweet, his thumbs caressing Mycroft’s cheeks. “Yeah. That’s right, _Boss_.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for hanging with me and your patience. I hope you'll come by my AO3 page and check out my other works.


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